Brownie: she's not what's for dinner

As I have probably mentioned, Gillian started playing violin last November. She has grown in leaps and bounds since then. She has been playing piano a while, but violin is more challenging-you have to hold the bow right, you have the make sure you bow the right direction in the music, you have to have your fingers in the right place to make a real note....not like piano. Sean works really hard with her to learn violin. And it's seriously no picnic to teach her anything.

So, we have been psyching her up for her first solo recital. We had to come up with some reward that would encourage her to practice-really practice-so she would be prepared. So we came up with this sticker chart:

This lays it on the line: to get something you really want, you have to practice-HARD-and earn it. Well, guess what she decided she wanted? I'll give you a hint: it's small, furry, alive, and looks like this:

So, you may remember the fish debacle. Or not really the debacle, but how over cleaning the fish bowl I was by the time Greta (who I didn't have the heart to tell Gillian was actually a male Betta) finally kicked it. Because something every parent on earth will tell you is when you "get your child a pet" what you are actually doing is signing yourself up for months or years of custodial pet care. The kid, if they actually have the attention span, might feed the pet for a month or two, but they won't ever get in the hang of cleaning up after it in the true sense of a pet owner. Make no mistake-at the end of the day, I bought MYSELF a Betta fish and many afternoons of scrubbing calcified and soggy fish food out of tubes, off of a tiny stone castle, and out of the pump with tiny pipe cleaners and a fish-tank-only toothbrush. Loads of awesome.

But, this violin thing was a big deal. And she was really nervous. So, we decided we could get the damned hampster-IF Gillian could get past her practice issues (which are mostly about the fact that she HATES being corrected for anything-chip off the ol' block) and promised to love the hampster and take care of it (which she did, absolutely earnestly).

So, behold, our 5 year old wonder performing at a real auditorium, with a 100+ person audience of parents, siblings, and grandparents.

We could have burst right open from pride because we knew how nervous she was-and she did GREAT. She didn't break under pressure. She kept it together. And she lingered a little too long while her adoring audience clapped for her-because it's some heady stuff to be loved by complete strangers. But then it was our time to pay the piper, and she reminded us that it was time to settle up. The next day the girls and I and Auntie Kim headed out to PetCo for the hampster accoutrements. Auntie Kim is an animal guru, you see, and even helped manage a pet store. So, she put everything we needed in the cart while the girls adored some puppies, and kittens, and fish, and rodents. But they were fresh out of hampsters. We left PetCo with $108 worth of hampster supplies and no hampster (I didn't know of the exorbitant startup costs, trust me). We went to another pet store in Evanston and they had a young female hampster that Gillian was immediately in love with-WIN! Auntie Kim bought the hampster and we were on our way. Gillian named her Brownie. She even made her a banner, not unlike the one she had on her incubator in the NICU:

(I don't know of you can see that Brownie has a crown-The Hampster Princess. She has to be royalty to run with this crowd)

At long last, her need for rodent ownership was satisfied. For a job well done, she got a rat. No, I got a rat. Because I know who will be cleaning hundreds of tiny hampster nuggets off of surfaces and out of the cage.

At any rate, for what it's worth: Welcome to our slightly crazy household. Hope you fit in well here. (and-what was I thinking?!!!)